


This will have no bearing on your evaluation.

by Anonymous



Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types, Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - No Reapers, Chora's Den, Drunken Flirting, Fix-It of Sorts, Humor, Identity Reveal, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Mistaken Identity, Nihlus Kryik Lives, Nihlus Kryik Swears, Nihlus Kryik Swears A Lot, Nihlus Kryik-POV, Nihlus Kryik-centric, No Smut, Not for the profanity-averse, Pre-Relationship, Rated for swearing, Relationship based in mutual respect, While strangely self-aware
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-24 07:20:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30068676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Nihlus figures the only downside to being competitive enough to make it to final selection for ST&R is not being able to refuse a challenge.
Relationships: Saren Arterius/Nihlus Kryik
Comments: 5
Kudos: 11
Collections: Spectre Requisitions 2021





	This will have no bearing on your evaluation.

**Author's Note:**

> The year is 2166, sometime after Saren rejected Anderson for Spectre candidacy in 2165. Saren is 27. Nihlus is 22. 
> 
> If you've never been this drunk, congratulations! You're responsible.

Nihlus figures the only downside to being competitive enough to make it to final selection for ST&R is not being able to refuse a challenge. 

Not even when that challenge is wearing C-Sec armor and just catapulted a krogan into a wall. He squints. Fuck. Who knew that C-Sec hired turian biotics? Not him. Must be getting rough in the Wards if they’re recruiting out of the cabals, that’s all he’s saying.

He’s not nearly drunk enough for this. But Alleia is. They’re both tied for first, and have been since the second week out from Menae. It's her turn to pick his mark. After what he pulled with that salarian last time, there's no chance she's passing up this opportunity.

Alleia shouts at the top of her lungs to be heard over the bass of the music, gesturing wildly at officer biotic.

“NIHLUS. HIM. NIHLUS, THAT ONE. YOU SAID ANYONE! GO GET HIS NUMBER.”

Yeah, yeah. Him. Sure. Whatever. Not like he’s in the middle of an arrest or anything. And he's doing a pretty impressive job with those flex-ties, too.

Nihlus pounds back another shot of horosk. Lets it burn its way down slowly. He’s got this. He’s in-fucking-vincible. Unsinkable? Some shit like that. Nihlus grips the edge of their bar table to steady himself. Right. One foot in front of the other. Easy.

The entire cadre of drunken ST&R candidates cheer him on. Fuckers.

He’s having trouble walking, actually. Strange. This normally doesn’t happen for another few drinks. When did the back of Chora's Den get so fucking far from the door?

Somehow he makes it across to the next table, then around the central bar, and finally taps officer biotic on the shoulder.

He’s short. That’s cute.

Officer biotic has very blue eyes and Nihlus calculates that he’s got about three seconds to make this work. Nihlus looks him up and down, slow, like a krogan merc trying to get the last bottle of ryncol from the bartender. Just appreciating. “You doing anything after this?” Smooth.

“Central booking. Looking for a ride?”

Ouch. A tough customer and, what was that? A warning? A come-on? He’s going to have to work for this. Nihlus leans against the bar, settling his weight back over his spurs. Like he’s paying attention to the most beautiful person in the room and not like he’s about to collapse. “I might be. So, you free afterward? Drinks on me.”

First rule of scoring a number: always keep the conversation going. Then offer to pay for drinks to seal the deal.

Officer biotic steps back, looking up at him. “I hope you know this will have no bearing on your evaluation.”

As far as pickup lines go, Nihlus has never heard this one. Maybe it’s a kink. “Uh, sure? But I still want your number.”

There’s something jostling his cowl. Nihlus looks back over his shoulder, only to get a faceful of blue breasts. Awkward. 

“Excuse me, ma’am. Could you please—I’m just trying to talk to the officer," he explains. "As you can see, this really isn’t necessary. Um, thank you?” 

Polite. His mom would be proud.

“Fuck you, buddy!” The dancer hisses, glaring down from her perch. “I’m trying to work here.”

Officer biotic speaks up from behind him, sounding very unimpressed. “So am I.”

Nihlus tries not to choke. He's just ruining everyone's business tonight, isn't he? Fine, he can pay. That's fair. Nihlus digs in his fatigues for credit chits. Waves some money at the asari a little desperately. The dancer swipes it from his hands, tucks some into her bra, and minces back down the bartop toward the batarian at the other end. She'll be fine. She probably just soaked him for enough credits to cover three dances. Nihlus knows he can't count when he's drunk.

Officer biotic watches her go, and then looks at Nihlus. He says nothing. Very sarcastically.

Even the flex-tied krogan at their feet looks confused. Nihlus kinda feels that, to be honest.

A few minutes later he walks back to the group in the corner with a comm code keyed into his omni, his hide still a little warm under the collar of his fatigues. 

Victory is sweet.

* * *

Or at least it is until he sobers up enough to read a cryptic incoming message, shortly after three C-Sec officers show up to haul the krogan off in their squad car.

_‘You will be there when I return.’_

The fuck. Like he has a choice. He still can’t walk straight and it’s funny to order every drink that Alleia hates. Nihlus switches them out for hers when she’s not looking. Classic. It almost makes him regret winning. Almost.

* * *

Officer biotic is in fact not an officer at all. When he returns, he’s wearing an ST&R patch and he looks an awful lot like Saren Arterius.

Weird.

Nihlus looks up from his seat a little stunned, the rest of the table gone totally silent next to him. Apparently everyone has noticed the resemblance. He could have sworn officer biotic was wearing blue armor and looking very un-Spectrelike earlier. The metallic silver now in front of him begs to differ.

“You need to respond to your messages.”

Nihlus looks down at his omni, and then back up at maybe-Saren.

“I’m still here?” 

In fairness, Nihlus follows instructions. Especially when the instructor is attractive. This is a well-known fact. To do otherwise would be a betrayal of his impeccable character.

Maybe-Saren acknowledges Nihlus's continued presence with a slight narrowing of his eyes. “Acceptable. This time. Come with me.”

So Nihlus does. It’s not smart to argue with someone who can toss a krogan like a clawball. Which he doesn’t find attractive. At all. Absolutely not.

* * *

It’s possible that he has a type. Maybe-Saren sits them down in a private booth with a view of the dancefloor. The music pulses through Nihlus's cowl like a heartbeat.

“—are you listening?”

Oh, he’s been staring while maybe-Saren talks to him. Shit.

“Still thinking about that krogan,” he says. It's a good recovery, and it's even true. "Impressive."

“Not my usual methods,” maybe-Saren admits. “But it was tactically necessary. C-Sec needed a fourth to run him to ground before he could warn his contact.”

Nihlus can appreciate that. “You know what? More than impressive. It was _fuckin’ awesome_. Er. Sir?”

“Just Saren. Hierarchy formalities draw attention.”

Mission accomplished. Maybe-Saren gets upgraded in Nihlus’s mind to definitely-Saren.

“I’m Nihlus.”

Saren eyes him. “Yes, I know.”

Nihlus blinks. “You do? Oh. Spectre authority. Should have remembered.” He’ll have to tell the other legionnaires how right they are about Spectre intelligence.

“The question is how you ended up here tonight,” Saren drawls. “Who did you bribe?”

Nihlus isn’t sure if his type includes ‘being interrogated by a potential partner,’ but he’s willing to find out.

“Just the asari dancer.”

Saren’s mandibles twitch.

“No one at your table is an informant?”

Nihlus laughs. “If they are, they’re plastered. We were drinking for hours before you showed up. There's still plenty of time for me to buy you a drink, too.”

Saren waves a hand in front of Nihlus’s eyes, looking for some kind of response.

Nihlus considers doing something filthy. Like catching Saren’s wrist and taking that glove off with his teeth. Before he can decide whether or not tongue should be involved, the opportunity is gone. He's still too drunk to pull that off, anyway. Not without snagging his mandibles on cloth. Executing that maneuver requires finesse, and there’s always a next time. He’s patient. 

Just when he thinks Saren is maybe humoring him, or reading his mind a little, he shakes his head and stands. Fuck, Nihlus wants him to stay.

“You’re nowhere near sober enough for a briefing," Saren says. "Don’t let this happen again. Drink water, and take these. We’ll reconvene tomorrow.”

Nihlus ends up alone in his booth, staring at two nonstandard pills, and wondering what in the fuck just happened. He shrugs and just does as he’s told. As usual. Tomorrow’s another day, and hope springs eternal.

* * *

Tomorrow is the moment of truth for ST&R selection. 

Nihlus is in his Hierarchy dress uniform, oddly hangover-free next to his suffering classmates. Those weird pills worked. He keeps expecting Saren to comm to arrange their next meeting, but no message arrives.

He wonders idly if Saren is going to be attending the selection announcement. If he does, maybe Nihlus can finally buy him that drink. They’ve still got a few hours to kill until the rest of the brass and the Citadel diplomats show up.

* * *

Nihlus is going to die on stage. Standing right between the visiting Primarch and his Spectre mentor.

Because that’s who Saren is. Not just officer biotic and the attractive guy Nihlus tried to pick up last night before realizing he was a famous Spectre. Oh no. They’re going to be working together for the next two years. 

He needs to call up his mother and plan his funeral.

Open casket viewing. In his dress blues. Followed by cremation. Yesterday. 

He survives the public ceremony long enough to salute the Primarch before Saren is leading him off stage to another room.

It takes him a moment to realize that Saren is speaking. This keeps happening to him. Saren is distracting.

“—still haven't found evidence of how you managed to compromise the results. Irregular, if not suspicious. I could almost approve.”

Oh shit. He’s expecting Nihlus to say something.

“I didn’t.” Did he just admit that out loud? He swallows hastily. Fuck. Better get this over with. “I didn’t know.”

Saren has a moment of utter bafflement. “Explain.”

Nihlus wants to frame that expression on his wall. Have his mother display it next to his coffin like a war trophy. Evidence of his sacrifice to a worthy cause.

Saren is still waiting.

Nihlus takes a breath and explains, carefully and professionally—since he has only one chance to get this right—that he had no idea how the selection was going to turn out. He covers the details of the game since his first week on Menae, and meeting Alleia, and the ongoing drama of their tied scores. How it was her turn to choose his target in Chora's Den. Nihlus thinks it's a pretty good after-action report, considering the lack of action.

Saren goes from interested, to blank-faced, to entirely still. Except that now his voice is flat, and his stare looks like it could melt a bulkhead.

“I will say this once,” Saren grates. “I expect you to keep the next two years professional. Your life and mine depend on whether or not you can maintain total focus on what I’m trying to teach you. Are we clear?”

Fuck, he’s hot.

“Aye, sir,” Nihlus answers, as automatic as if he were a fresh Ensign. 

Saren accepts this answer, grudging. “While I am disappointed you did not acquire the selection results in advance of the announcement, I can appreciate the sheer audacity of your approach.”

Nihlus lets the words sink in. A compliment? Maybe he’s not so dead after all. They can work through this. Stay professional.

* * *

Nope. He’s delusional. Less than a week in, and Nihlus can already tell these are going to be the longest, most infuriating, and supremely important two years of his life. Full Spectre status can't happen soon enough.


End file.
